


The Image Of Death

by lezzerlee



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Challenge Response, Coma, Community: ae_match, M/M, Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezzerlee/pseuds/lezzerlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Absolute silence leads to sadness. It is the image of death."</i>  ~ Jean Jacques Rousseau</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Image Of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [metacheese](http://metacheese.livejournal.com)

_This is a wasteland_ , Eames thinks as he stands in the middle of what was once an elaborate copy of Chicago. Buildings crumble to the ground in front of him, collapsing onto broken foundations, burying the smaller structures underneath their rubble.

The implosions make no sound.

That is the most worrisome aspect of this entire dreamscape. It’s completely silent: no wind, no traffic, no projections. The disintegrating landscape tumbles down around him, but the impact is inaudible. It’s not as if it’s due to distance either. A chunk of concrete slams into the ground just meters away. Eames is completely unaware of its fall, the smaller chunks missed in his peripheral vision, until the large piece breaks next to him, sending debris flying into his body.

He’ll have to be more careful.

He’s almost afraid to speak. His thoughts seem thunderous in his mind, not having to contend with the world around him. But he has to know if whatever is making the world soundless affects him as well.

“Arthur?” He calls out. His voice sounds strange to his own ears. It seems magnified as it bounces off the surfaces around him, none of the ambience that would accompany the real world, or regular dreams, dampening the call.

He doesn’t receive an answer.

The entire dream is a decay of urban infrastructure, jagged teeth in the yawning mouth of Arthur’s subconscious. He didn’t know what he would find down here, and now that he does, his heart sinks farther into his stomach.

It’s been three days since Cobb called him. Three days since he scrambled on the first flight he could manage to The States, with the knowledge that Arthur was in trouble. Three days since the doctors told them they had no options, nothing they could do, and this trip inside Arthur’s mind was set up as a last resort.

When he’d arrived he had taken one look at Arthur’s comatose form, his pale skin nearly translucent with blue veins prominent underneath, and Eames had known. He’d known, but he had to try anyway.

He sets off towards the center of the city, feet heavy and throat constricted.

When he wakes, Cobb looks at him expectantly with hope clearly written across his face. He looks fragile like the first days after Mal’s death, and Eames pities the tragedy this man has been forced to endure. He wrestles with his own emotion. He needs to scream, to curse the world, to curse Arthur for doing this to them.

He nods his head solemnly as he pulls the needle from his skin. When he stands he moves to Arthur’s side. He touches Arthur’s hand, dragging his finger over his smooth skin, then leaves. Cobb’s sobs echo behind him as he trudges down the hall. His legs feel like they are barely supporting him, but they spirit him away as fast as he can force them to. At this moment, listening to the heartbreaking cries behind him, he wishes this world was silent as the dream.

Tears fall freely from his eyes but he keeps moving. If he stops … he doesn’t even know, but he can’t let that happen. He can’t let himself find out just how much he’ll shatter if he doesn’t go now. He palms the red die in his hand, lifted from Arthur’s belongings, turning it over between his fingers.

Arthur won’t be needing it anymore.


End file.
